William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“I know,” the woman said.

“I don’t understand,” the man said. “We’ve had so many fights that were supposed to be about other things, but were actually always about this oppression, and this compulsoriness. What’s happened? Surely something’s happened. What is it?”

“You wanted to run away,” May said. “I knew why. They had been through something or other, something surely serious, too, as you must know. They had involved us, but the next day the first thing they did was telephone and invite us to dinner. Why? Because there is no running away, Warren. After what they’d been through it seemed to me that if they could ask us over, without any reference to what they and we had already been through, we could certainly go to them in the same spirit. I believed going was important.”

“I’m sorry I was stupid about that,” the man said.

“Don’t be sorry about anything,” the woman said. “I made up my mind on the drive to Fresno, and back, to fight this out with you. I made up my mind to force you into helping me. I was sure you would still want to run away, and I almost believed it might be easier that way, after all. For me , I mean. Our marriage would end. I mean, decently , in divorce. It’s been ended for a long time in any case, as you and I know, as we’ve known since soon after Flora’s birth. You wanted a son. I wanted a son. But how long is it since we’ve talked about it? Six years, or more. We can have a son, we know it, but we gave up being married, Warren. We gave it up and just stayed in the same house together. Of course something’s happened. We’ve met another family, with difficulties greater than our own. That’s what’s happened. It would have been easier not to go, certainly easier after you had telephoned and told them we were going to Yosemite. I have never been so hurt as when you thought I wanted to poke into their affairs. You kept saying that. I didn’t poke into their affairs. I couldn’t hold it against her that she had slammed the door in my face, even. She and I talked. We talked a long time. That’s what’s happened, Warren. We talked, as if not about ourselves, about women, being married, having children, being mothers, being human beings—these are difficult things. Being these things calls for trying all the time. Of course you were oppressed, but so was I. I don’t want you to be, and I don’t want to be. I’ll take my chances, because they’re worth taking. I’m thirty-three years old, Warren, and I want a son. I still want a son.”

“I want one, too,” the man said.

“I’m not a foolish woman,” the woman said, “as I’ve seemed to be for so long, and you’re not a tormented man, as you’ve seemed to be. I’m any kind of woman any kind of man you may become may wish to discover in me.”

“I was sure we were finished,” the man said.

They called Mrs. Blotch and told her they might not be back until very late, would she spend the night? She said she would. Walz fetched Mrs. Blotch and they told the kids they were going to Fresno and wouldn’t be home until very late. They drove off. The kids looked at one another and Fanny said, “They’re trying to be in love again.”

Monday afternoon a man from the garage brought Dade’s car to the house. The kids were asleep at the time, but when Evan got the man to put the top down Red heard the grinding noise, woke up, and came running out of the house. It was the hottest day of the year so far, the man said. He lifted the hood to show Evan all the good things that had been done to the motor, Red climbing up onto the bumper to look, too. It was a ten-year-old Lincoln with almost a hundred thousand miles on it, but the man said it was now good for at least fifty thousand more.

“It ought to be,” he said. “Want to know what it’s costing Dade? Almost five hundred dollars, but we’ve practically made a new car out of it. For my money it’s better-looking than the new models anyway. Want to get behind the wheel and drop me off at the garage? I’ll tell you a few things about the car as we go.”

Now Eva came running out of the house.

“Come on, Swan,” Evan said. “We’ll go for a ride to town in Dade’s car. We’ll come back, and then go for a real drive. You, too, Eva.”

“Another picnic?” Eva said. “To the place by the river?”

“Or another place,” Evan said.

Everybody got in and sat down on the smooth black leather seats. The car was dark blue, and newly waxed and polished.

“It’s Dade’s car,” Eva said. “It’s not ours, Mama. It’s Dade’s.”

The car was a delight to drive. The motor was very nearly silent but tremendously powerful.

When they had left the man off at the garage, Evan asked everybody to get up front.

“Is it too hot, Swan?” he said. “Shall I put the top up?”

“No, Papa,” Eva said. “I can see everywhere now.”

“Leave it down,” Swan said. “It is hot, but it would be anyway.”

“Where will we go?” Eva said. “Do I have to put on clothes? Can’t I go like this? It feels so good to be in only shorts.”

“You can go the way you are,” Evan said. “We’ll take along some clothes to put on later. The sun’ll do you good. You, too, Red, if you want to.”

“Shall we pick up the Walz girls and take them with us?” Swan said.

“Why not all of them?” Evan said. “There’s plenty of room in the car. Maybe we could go swimming.”

“Where?” Red said. “Piedra? It’s hard to walk on the rocks there.”

“Maybe they know a better place,” Evan said. “Suppose we stop there on our way home, then go back and pick them up after we fix a picnic basket?”

“Do you like them?” Swan said.

“Very much,” Evan said.

“I do, too,” Red said.

“So do I,” Eva said, “especially Fanny. I didn’t like her at first, I liked Flora at first, but now I like Fanny best, then Flora, then Fay.”

“She’s the nicest woman I’ve ever met,” Swan said. “The first impression you get of people can be awful wrong, can’t it? In one visit we’ve become the best of friends.”

“Cody Bone’s my best friend,” Red said.

“No,” Eva said. “Flora’s your best friend.”

“I forgot all about Bart,” Evan said. “The man in San Francisco’s going to phone sometime this afternoon. I’ve got to wait for his call. I told Bart I’d phone the minute I heard from him.”

“Maybe he’ll phone while we’re fixing the picnic basket,” Swan said.

“Well, if he doesn’t,” Red said, “you phone him, Papa.”

“Well, I could,” Evan said, “but I’d rather not. I could , though.”

They came to the Walz home and found everybody in the back yard.

“How about going swimming with us?” Evan said. “We’re going to have a picnic, too.”

“How about it, May?” Walz said.

“Us , too?” Fanny said.

“Yes, Fanny,” Eva said.

“We’ll go in Dade’s car,” Evan said. “There’s plenty of room. We’re going home to fix a basket. We’ll be back in an hour or so. Think of a good place to go. Let it be far.”

“Yes,” Red said, “let’s go far this time. Piedra’s not far.”

“Piedra’s so nice, though,” May said. “Couldn’t we go there again, Red?”

“Oh, well,” Red said. “Sure we could, Mrs. Walz—if you want to.”

“It’s the best place, isn’t it, Warren?” May said.

“Just about,” Walz said. “The river at Skaggs Bridge is pretty good, too, though, and no rocks. It’s shallow enough for the kids unless they go out to the middle of the stream. Do you have suits? We’ve got all kinds of them if you haven’t. We’ll bring along some extra ones. We’ll decide when you get back.”